<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Children of Sorrow: The Witcher Tales by Two_many_rs</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340923">Children of Sorrow: The Witcher Tales</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_many_rs/pseuds/Two_many_rs'>Two_many_rs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:00:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340923</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_many_rs/pseuds/Two_many_rs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a desolate Temeria under the shadow of the second Nilfgaardian invasion, Geralt and Dandelion travel in search of work. In the small village of Forlaetan, Geralt faces a new monster long thought extinct.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A sheet of knotted clouds choked out the noon sun, dowsing Velen in an early night time darkness. The low grumblings of thunder followed quick flashes of lightning over the distant horizon.<br/>
“Hm, storm’s coming,” Geralt grumbled over his shoulder. He patted Roach’s neck as he urged him to continue on.<br/>
“No offence Geralt, but it doesn’t take witcher’s senses to tell you that,” Dandelion grumbled, hoping his friend didn’t realize that he had jumped in his saddle at the sudden thunder.<br/>
Geralt only groaned in response. He twisted in his saddle, moved his standard silver and steel swords to the side, and reached into a saddle bag to retrieve a handful of jerky. It was the last of his food, and he started nibbling on the largest piece.<br/>
Dandelion perked on his horse at the smell of the meat. He stood up in his stirrups, trying to look over Geralt’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of the food. A dog-like whimper came weakly from his throat.<br/>
Geralt groaned. “Would you like a piece, Dandelion?”<br/>
“Well, I guess if you have some extra, yes. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast yesterday,” Dandelion replied just a little too hurriedly.<br/>
For a moment there was no response.<br/>
“I could play us a travel song in exchange if you’d prefer,” Dandelion offered.<br/>
“I’ll give it to you if you promise not to,” Geralt growled as he reached back a hand towards the bard, a few pieces of jerky sticking up from the gloved fingers.<br/>
Dandelion pawed at the jerky desperately. He began to nibble at the savory meat. More rumblings of thunder followed over the horizon behind them.<br/>
After a short pause Dandelion broke the silence, “So, have you ever been to Thambedd before, Geralt?”<br/>
“Once. Maybe a decade ago?” Geralt grumbled.<br/>
“What happened?” Dandelion mumbled through a mouthful.<br/>
“I had heard about a contract for a dragon that was nested in the mountains just outside of the village. I’ve told you enough times just how rare real dragons are, so I assumed that it would be nothing more than a forktail or wyvern and I was right. Turned out it was just a forktail that was pissed off after some scoia'tael ransacked its nest for food.” Geralt told the story with familiar indifference.<br/>
“And what did you do? Perhaps this could be the tale of my newest ballad!” Dandelion began rambling with animated excitement. “Did you face it in intense combat and slice its head clean off its neck? Or did you take pity on the monstrosity, seeing part of yourself in it and instead slew the scoia'tael bastards that had wronged nature?”<br/>
“No,” Geralt cut him off. “I set a trap using a goat that was donated by a local farmer with some persuasion. Then, when it came I killed it and went to collect my reward. Only the bastards at Thambedd claimed that they could have taken care of a measly forktail themselves and they only paid me half of what I was due.”<br/>
Dandelion was silent.<br/>
“How’s that for a ballad?”<br/>
“Well I-”<br/>
Geralt cut him off. “No, of course that wouldn’t do, would it? Because your ballads are fairy tales. Little more than the dreams of children. They change the world to make it happy and beautiful and just when in reality it is little more than war, death, and violence. Because they are little more than an escape for people are they not? Are they anything more than a distraction from the Nilfgaard hordes biting at the nation’s heels and the kings that abuse and rape its people for their own gain?”<br/>
“So no, I don’t think that me killing a forktail in an empty field for a meager handful of old florens would not do well for a ballad.”<br/>
Dandelion said little, instead electing to continue munching on the few scraps of jerky that remained in his pinching hands. He knew not to take his good friend’s outbursts personally.<br/>
After a long pause had passed, punctuated by the thunder’s continuous assault on the horizon, Geralt broke the silence, “We’re going to have to get some supplies in Thambedd. We’ve run low.”<br/>
They rode the rest of the way to Thambedd without conversation. They arrived at the small village just as night fell in earnest.<br/>
Thambedd was a humble village of scattered ramshackle buildings. Sitting in the middle of a wide plain, the buildings sat on an even level and were connected with dusty paths worn by repeated travel. The outer rim of the village was home to a couple of farms, their homesteads surrounded by sparse fields with only a handful of fledgling crops poking through the soil in each.<br/>
Trails of dense smoke twisted up towards the sky from the rough holes torn through the thatch roofs of a handful of the cottages. As they entered the village through the eastern side they crossed the paths of a handful of locals. Each looked filthy and kept their eyes on the ground as the new arrivals passed.<br/>
Geralt picked up on fragments of whispered utterances that trickled throughout the crowd. “Freak.” “Mutant.” “Cursed one.” “The Eternal Fire protect us.” A snarling grimace smeared across his scarred countenance.<br/>
After passing through the desolate fields and the adjacent farm houses, Geralt and Dandelion passed the local blacksmith. A stout dwarf with a well trimmed gray beard, he dowsed the flames of his forge as they passed. Geralt and the dwarf met eyes and the blacksmith gave a stern nod before he continued to clean up his tools for the night.<br/>
“Geralt, I believe that sign up there is for an inn, is it not? We could probably find food and a bed for the night up!” Dandelion chirped excitedly.<br/>
“Maybe,” Geralt grumbled as they continued their slow advance into the village.<br/>
A light rain began to fall from the dark sheet of clouds above them. Geralt lightly flicked his cloth hood over his head and double checked that the rough blanket on the back of his saddle covered his swords in case the sheathes bore any holes. He simply couldn’t afford new swords if they began to wear any faster than necessary.<br/>
They approached the front of the inn and stopped their horses beneath a small wooden roof that sat over a trough filled with water. They dismounted and set the mounts up to feed after they were tied to a thick post beneath the rickety roof.<br/>
The rain began to fall heavier as the roars of the thunder advanced closer.<br/>
Geralt removed the saddle bag on Roach’s right side, the one holding his purses of sparse coin, two water skins, and a couple empty glass vials that normally housed potions. He hoisted his swords off of the saddle as well and tucked them beneath one arm before joining Dandelion next to his horse.<br/>
“It’s obvious that we aren’t welcome here. We can spend one night, but then we have to move on,” Geralt growled over the growing volume of the rain.<br/>
“Geralt, I’m hardly listening to you,” Dandelion chirped back without glancing his way. “All I can think about is the savory stew that is waiting for me beyond that miserable threshold.”<br/>
Geralt groaned in annoyance. “Just get us a room and some food. I’m going to ask around as see if there’s any money to be made around here.”<br/>
Dandelion nodded enthusiastically as he pulled his own saddle bag off of his horse.<br/>
The rain started to fall even harder, now beginning to pour around the small inn.<br/>
The inside of the inn smelled of pine fueled fire and slightly burnt chicken. Dried cloves of garlic and heads of flowers hung at the top of every wall. A crudely painted symbol meant to be a red temerian lily was on the rough boards of the wall across from the door.<br/>
In the corner to Geralt and Dandelion’s left was a small counter with the innkeep across from them. She was a middle aged woman with straw like hair and a scar running down one cheek, and Geralt could feel Dandelion’s attention lock onto her. To their right was the majority of the interior, a large open rectangle filled with tables and benches.<br/>
Few of the tables were available, and each of the nearly dozen claimed tables had a small group of villagers sitting at them. The inn was filled with the sounds of laughter and low conversation, but it petered out as the whispers of Geralt’s entrance spread throughout the crowd.<br/>
Geralt jabbed his head towards the innkeep and mumbled, “Get the food and nothing else.”<br/>
Dandelion nodded enthusiastically and marched off towards the counter.<br/>
Geralt’s shoulders sank with a heavy sigh as he turned to walk through the tables to sit at one of the empty tables. Whispers ran throughout the crowd as he walked by, and his ears heard them all.<br/>
“Fucking filth.”<br/>
“Can’t believe he’d dare show his face here, eh?”<br/>
“Do you think he’s here to deal with whatever that monster is in Forlaetan?”<br/>
“I doubt it. Freaks like him just rape and steal. I’d first believe that he was their monster.”<br/>
Geralt reached the table and heavily dropped his saddlebags and sword on the top of the table. He groped at his steel sword and laid it out from underneath his packs on the table next to them. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it.<br/>
“You should know that your friend isn’t exactly welcome here,” the innkeep said to Dandelion as he approached the counter. Her voice was smooth like honey but was undercut with sharp distaste.<br/>
“And just what you all have against my old pal Geralt? He may look a bit like angry old leather, but he’s really just a big kitten,” Dandelion said with a sharp grin and raised eyebrows.<br/>
“Freaks just aren’t welcome here in Thambedd. Especially not thieving ones,” she said as she crossed her arms.<br/>
“Thieving? I’ve never known dear old Geralt to steal even a single coin,” Dandelion said with an exaggerated frown. “Mind if I set my bags here?”<br/>
“Yes. I do.”<br/>
Dandelion’s frown intensified. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Geralt approached a table housing a handful of gruff looking villagers. He turned back towards the innkeep, “So what’s your name anyway, huh?”<br/>
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking for games, hun. I’ll sell you some food but then you and your friend need to piss on off out of Thambedd, eh?”<br/>
Dandelion made a pouting face, “Hey, don’t be like that now. Do you see him back there?” he twisted to jab a thumb back towards Geralt. “Look at him back there! Mixing in with the people, happier than a pig in shit, eh?”<br/>
She was unimpressed. “Checking their pockets for crowns most likely.”<br/>
“Hello,” Geralt said as he approached his third table of locals. “Friends,” he added sardonically after a pause.<br/>
There were four men at the table covering a range of ages, but each with callused hands and soot covered faces. They reeked of onions and the cheap beer of the inn. They sat in pairs of two on each side of the table, and the one closest to Geralt on his left was the first to turn his head to look at him.<br/>
“Hello,” the man said, his knotted gray beard bouncing stiffly with his jaw. He paused, “Freak.”<br/>
“I’m just looking for work,” Geralt tried to remain calm. “Have you heard anything?”<br/>
The men all looked around at each other, feigning intense thought before the one in the back right perked up excitedly.<br/>
“I think we might actually have something for ya on our own farm, yeah.” He was the youngest of the group. The three others turned to look at him, incredulous at his unaccepted hospitality.<br/>
Geralt crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow unconvinced.<br/>
“In fact, I think it would be the perfect job for one such as yourself.”<br/>
“Oh, yeah?” Geralt’s patience was waning.<br/>
“Yeah, I think we’ve got us a real massive beast that needs takin’ care of real quick. Monster’s probably about three hundred pounds! Big and old the thing is, and it snarls at any one or any thing that even tries to get near.” The man, who looked like he was hardly old enough to marry, was doing his best to seem sincere and frightened.<br/>
But Geralt could see in his posture and smell in his pheromones that he was lying.<br/>
“The thing is, mister witcher, that we just don’t know how to deal with her at this point. Anyone we send to take care of her just gets scared off, but perhaps a hardened monster hunter such as yourself would be able to take care of fucking this old sow we have for us.” The man and the rest of the table erupted into laughter at the punchline.<br/>
“She sure could use a bit of stress relief, master witcher!”<br/>
“And I’m sure she’s your type, white one!”<br/>
They were pounding the table and slapping one another’s shoulders with jubilation.<br/>
“Who knows, maybe there’s even one of your precious sorceresses trapped in there somewhere, huh witcher?”<br/>
Geralt groaned with irritation and turned away from the table to head back to his own and wait for Dandelion to return with the food. It all would be easier to stomach when he wasn’t starving.<br/>
“Oi!” the voice of the man with the white beard barked out from behind him.<br/>
Geralt kept walking.<br/>
“Hey, freak!” the voice shouted again. Geralt stopped halfway to his table, his teeth grinding together. “Do those mutations take the sense of humor out of you too?”<br/>
Geralt heard the four men stand up from the table and each take a step towards him.<br/>
“I knew that they took away your hard-ons, but I never did hear that they made you insufferable pricks too. I thought you was just born that way,” the younger one retorted, safe in his position at the rear of the pack.<br/>
The rain outside of the inn battered the walls outside in a steady, frantic tempo. Thunder clapped repeatedly and shook the dried herbs and hanging lanterns, banging them against the walls loudly.<br/>
“Or is it just that you think you’re better than us, eh mutant?” one of the older men spoke. This one had a large scar running down his cheek that was visible beneath the dried dirt and dust covering his face. From the way it was healed Geralt assumed it was an improperly treated clawing from a drowner. “Because if you think that some fancy magic and chemicals flowing in your veins makes you better than us full blooded fucking Temerians, you’ve got it all wrong.”<br/>
Geralt let out a heavy sigh and continued walking towards his table.<br/>
“Not so tough now, are ya witcher?” the man with the gray beard chirped. “You want us all to believe that you killed yourself a fucking dragon, but you can’t even handle a bit of barking, eh? I always thought you was soft, but I didn’t think that you were worse than my boy ‘ere.”<br/>
“Yeah, I could probably beat this witcher so bad that I could pull his trousers down and fuck him in the arse after,” the young man shouted excitedly. “I bet he’d even enjoy it too!”<br/>
The man with the gray beard walked up to Geralt’s back. He was close enough that Geralt could smell his acrid breath and feel it blow against his leather jerkin. “You hear that, white bitch? You think you’d like my boy here to give you a round before you fuck our dear old sow?”<br/>
The old man delivered a hard shove to the center of Geralt’s back. Geralt didn’t budge, but his instincts took over. They flexed his muscles and set his feet as one hand shot onto the table and grabbed the hilt of the steel sword lying there impatiently. He turned quickly to face the old man, beginning to drag the sword out of its sheath with him, the pommel and blade extending out of the back of his clenched fist.<br/>
The manicured hand of Dandelion on his chest stopped Geralt in motion. “Friends! Friends! What is this all about now? We just came here to eat like the rest of you fine folks, no?”<br/>
Geralt’s eyes were wide, flittering between every person in the room, assessing their every movement and adjustment. His neck muscles were tensed with anger, and his face was smeared in a horrible snarl. The muscles in his arms were taut and ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.<br/>
“There’s no problem at all, sir…,” the old man started, feigning innocence.<br/>
“Dandelion,” Dandelion reported proudly.<br/>
“There’s no problem at all, sir Dandelion. We merely were offering the witcher here some work, but I think he took our good humor as an insult for some reason. Perhaps all of his years alone have left him ill-tempered and unable to appreciate a good jest.”<br/>
“Now, I’ll admit that Geralt may not be the most comedic soul I’ve ever known,” Dandelion said as he wormed his way in between the two bodies, “But I assure you that he meant no offense by any of it.”<br/>
“We’ll see if they take offense at their blood spilling at their feet,” Geralt growled.<br/>
The old man took a step backwards, his face beginning to go white as he saw Geralt’s fist clutching the hilt of the sword on the table.<br/>
Dandelion spun around to face his fuming friend.<br/>
“Jaskier, move,” Geralt snarled.<br/>
“Geralt, please let me handle this. I don’t want to leave Thambedd in a blood bath, so please just let me get us out of here before you make a bad situation terrible. Ok, Butcher of Blaviken?” Dandelion said the moniker with venom, and it stung its way through Geralt’s blind fury.<br/>
He loosed his grip on his sword and closed his stance to be less threatening. “Fine, but I’m grabbing my things and we’re leaving. Now.”<br/>
Dandelion nodded sternly before turning back to face the crowd. With an exaggerated grin he began, “Now folks, I am truly sorry for what transpired here, but you of course must realize that my dearest friend here and I have been travelling for nigh on months now. That and the fact that we are both devilishly hungry make for a very poor temperament indeed, don’t you all agree?” Dandelion let out a forced chuckle.<br/>
It was obvious that his speech was doing little. The crowd was beginning to push back against the walls, leaving a large arc of empty space around them. Their faces were white and beginning to sweat.<br/>
Geralt couldn’t escape the stench of fear that was saturating the place.<br/>
“So, we are simply going to leave you all here in peace, and go about our way, yes Geralt?” Dandelion said, wanting nothing more than to leave Thambedd and the situation behind. “So we’re just going to slowly walk out and you’ll never see us again, alright?”<br/>
Geralt grabbed his saddlebag and swords from the table. Dandelion took a tentative step towards the door and motioned for Geralt to follow. They started walking slowly, both of them tense as all of the eyes in the room followed them maliciously.<br/>
The rain assaulted the walls outside as thunder roared at them and shook the building in rage.<br/>
They reached the door to the inn and Dandelion swung it open and stood with one arm ushering Geralt out the threshold. “Alright Geralt, lead the way.”<br/>
Geralt stopped for a second and stared at the pouring rain just outside the door. A flash of lightning struck off in the distance, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder. It was a familiar sight in a familiar moment, but that did little to mute how bitter it all was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dandelion woke the next morning with a sharp pain in his neck. A probing hand found a rough rock beneath his neck and threw it out of the shoddy tent he had set up just beyond the line of trees running next to the road leading out of Thambedd.<br/>
He grunted as he rolled over and looked outside the overhang of the “tent”. The rain had stopped just a handful of hours before.<br/>
“Geralt?” he yelled out sloppily.<br/>
He heard a grunt in return accompanied by the sounds of saddlebags being hefted and attached.<br/>
“That you Geralt?” he called out again. After a short while without a response he grumbled to himself, “Of course it’s him. Who else can walk around in a damned forest without making a sound?”<br/>
The cloth lean-to was thrown aside in a flurry of movement. Dandelion rolled over and buried his eyes into the crook of his elbow. Geralt, silhouetted against the morning light, towered over him.<br/>
“Get up,” Geralt grumbled. “We’re riding.”<br/>
“Please, Geralt,” Dandelion started as he rose from the imprint he left in the rough forest floor, “which mutation is it exactly that makes you Witchers able to rise as such an inhumane hour?”<br/>
Geralt looked over his shoulder. “You should be thankful because it is the same one that makes us able to protect little weasel bards.”<br/>
Dandelion adjusted his doublet and brushed off the myriad twigs and small leaves that coated it. “Is it that same one that makes you all so intolerable as well?”<br/>
“You should know by now that I can hear you, Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled as we mounted Roach’s saddle.<br/>
Dandelion winced and started rolling up his cloth lean-to. Geralt waited, giving no effort to trying to hide his impatience.<br/>
After a period of silence, “Do we even have anywhere to go?”<br/>
“We’re going to Forlaetan,” Geralt said. He watched Dandelion pack away the cloth and mount his own horse. “Heard there may be some work there.”<br/>
“Did you hear that before you turned that inn into a mob or after?” Geralt shot his friend a look of daggers. Dandelion looked away in submittance and performed an exaggerated stretch. He began to feel awkward as Geralt’s glare remained.<br/>
“Well, lead the way then,” Dandelion offered meekly.<br/>
Geralt obliged.<br/>
Three days later the duo trotted into the outer rim of Forlaetan. The village was nested at the bottom of a small hill. The main road led into a large wooden pavilion that served as the village’s meeting area and market. The road circled the pavilion and spread out in spokes of streets lined with shacks and small houses.<br/>
Night was just beginning to fall, and the roads were empty with only a handful of people loitering in the pavilion.<br/>
“Where do you think everybody is?” Dandelion asked as his horse cantered into line with Roach.<br/>
“At home most likely,” Geralt said, his eyes scanning over everything in view. “Scared villagers typically accompany my work, though.”<br/>
They continued down the main road of Forlaetan and approached the pavilion. Dandelion waxed poetically about the beauty of little villages he had seen before that were similar to this one, but Geralt ignored everything he said.<br/>
Two of the villagers in the pavilion looked away from what they were focusing on to inspect the newcomers. They quickly looked away with hurried whispers upon seeing the markings of a witcher heading their way.<br/>
Dandelion and Geralt reached the pavilion with the bard still droning on his story unhindered by Geralt’s display of apathy. Geralt overheard the grumblings of a small group of villagers at the center of the pavilion, and caught out of the corner of his eye one of the men nervously crossing the wood structure towards them.<br/>
“Jaskier, be quiet,” Geralt grunted as he turned from Roach’s saddle to face the approaching man.<br/>
His posture was hunched and defensive, and his eyes were glued to the ground as he walked. The top of his head was bald and peeling dead skin from a recovering sunburn. His face was adorned with patches of thick white facial hair segregated by patches of wrinkled, sun tanned leathery skin.<br/>
“Mister…” the man started with a crackling dry voice as he approached. “Mister witcher.”<br/>
“Yes?” Geralt tried to sound as welcoming as he could.<br/>
“Are...are you here for the monster, sir witcher?”<br/>
“Geralt will do,” Geralt shifted his feet. “So there is something here then?”<br/>
The man’s body began to shake and he nodded his head excitedly. “Oh yes, witcher-er, Geralt. We could definitely use your help here in Forlaetan.”<br/>
“What have you been dealing with?”<br/>
The man’s shaking increased. “I-well, I don’t know, sir. None of us here seem to know, although the pellar has said he has some ideas, but the words he says are strange to me, sir. Strange to most of us.”<br/>
“What has your monster done?” Geralt asked mechanically.<br/>
The man’s wrinkled face twisted into a knot. The acrid breath from his near toothless mouth hit Geralt in the face as he spoke, “The blasted cunt has been pulling some of us out into the woods and pulling our guts out. We’ve been findin’ em the next day, hung up in the trees like some knot of branches.”<br/>
“How many people has it killed now?”<br/>
“Hm...must be close to half a dozen now.”<br/>
“Have there been any witnesses or survivors? Maybe somebody who heard something or has been to one of the sites where someone was murdered?” Geralt said, mentally parsing through and ingesting the information.<br/>
“Well Serg just went away a couple of days ago,” the old man mumbled, “so you could talk to Anne, his widow. We haven’t said much to her since it happened. We like to give people their space to grieve.”<br/>
“Thank you. Do you know where I could find her?”<br/>
The old man pointed to one of the spoke roads to his right. “The last building down there on the left. She hasn’t left since it happened, so I’m sure you’ll find her there.”<br/>
Geralt nodded sternly and turned towards Dandelion. “Come.”<br/>
Dandelion opened his mouth to protest, but shut it after reconsidering and followed behind Roach, leading his own horse by the reins.<br/>
The widow’s shack looked as if a strong wind would send it toppling. Large gaps were present in between the thing logs that comprised the shack’s body. A faint glow emanated from within the shack, casting a feathered orange light out onto the dirt and mud at Geralt’s feet.<br/>
The soft sobs of a woman weeping could be heard coming from within the thin walls.<br/>
“Maybe I’ll just stay out here, huh Geralt?” Dandelion offered weakly as he hitched his horse to a gap in the wall. “Keep an eye on the horses?”<br/>
“Not a chance. I need a second set of ears, make sure I don’t miss anything,” Geralt said in a way that shut down any idea of debate.<br/>
Dandelion whined but obliged and positioned himself closely behind Geralt.<br/>
Geralt rolled his eyes and delivered a sharp knock on the decrepit door hanging loosely in the threshold.<br/>
The sobs cut off quickly and were followed by a moment of silence textured only by the crackles of the fire inside the building.<br/>
“Who is it?” a shaking woman’s voice came from within the building.<br/>
“Geralt. A witcher.”<br/>
There were some quick sniffles and the sounds of shaky feet being dragged across worn wood boards. Geralt could smell the sting of fisstech in the air. The door shuddered and scraped against the floor as it was pulled inwards into the shack.<br/>
The doorframe was filled with the form of a shockingly tall woman. She stood a head taller than Geralt even though she was stooped over with age. Her face hung from her skull in folds of wrinkles, and her hunched body was covered with a flat black cloth dress that hung from her loosely.<br/>
“You’re...a witcher?” the widow asked. Her eyes were bloodshot, puffy and red.<br/>
“Geralt,” he said slowly. He added, “And this is Dandelion. A troubadour.”<br/>
The widow nodded slowly, her eyes flickering back and forth between the two visitors with dull eyes. She stepped backwards into the shack, pulling the protesting door with her.<br/>
“Please, come in.”<br/>
Geralt nodded solemn thanks and stepped into the shack. Dandelion followed behind like a trained pup.<br/>
The inside of the shack looked worse than the exterior. A clay fireplace to the left of the door was active with a fire that was on the brink of dying out. A chicken was sitting on a spigot above the fire, the top layer of flesh burned crispy black from neglect.<br/>
Geralt walked into the shack to the right, where there was only a small mound of hay sitting on rough wooden boards that were covered by remnants of torn leather and shards of broken pottery.<br/>
“Please, sit,” the widow said softly with a muted gesture towards the mound of hay.<br/>
Geralt nodded and sat heavily down on the hay. Dandelion sat down next to him and slowly slid off of the mound onto the adjacent floorboards.<br/>
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Geralt began, not wanting to waste time or linger.<br/>
“Whatever about?” the widow said fuzzily as she leaned against the wall and stared at the floor.<br/>
“About your husband,” Geralt approached the topic bluntly. “He died recently, no?”<br/>
Her head nodded weakly. “Yes. Yes, he did.”<br/>
“And it was a monster that did it?”<br/>
“That’s what they say.”<br/>
“Well, I’m here to kill that monster, but I need you to answer some questions for me.”<br/>
A shiver passed through the widow’s entire body before she closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her eyes peeled open slowly, and stared dryly into Geralt’s.<br/>
“As long as you promise to kill the fucker, and avenge my Serg.”<br/>
Geralt nodded and crossed his arms to listen. “Start with everything you remember about the night that it happened. Anything you heard, saw, smelled could be of help.”<br/>
The widow’s eyes sharpened with the effort of thinking back to that fateful night. Her voice shook as she said, “He was riding home from Crow’s Perch that night. We have a son who lives there as their local blacksmith. Serg had gone there to help our boy out. I was sitting in a chair in front of the door of our house a couple of streets over.”<br/>
“This isn’t where you both lived?” Geralt cut in.<br/>
The widow shook her head, “No, I came here after that night. I couldn’t stay in that house alone. It was as if his voice was in the walls.” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes began to gloss back over.<br/>
“Please, continue,” Geralt tried to keep her focused. “Well, I was sewing a hole in one of his old doublets, hoping to surprise him when he came home. But, when I stood up to wave at him a giant...thing, like a blurred shadow, swept him off the top of his horse and scooped him into the woods.”<br/>
Tears were welling up in the widow’s eyes. Her lip began trembling, and her hands clawed at her dress, probing for something.<br/>
“I told him not to travel back home at night, but he didn’t listen, and now that damned creature took my Serj from me!” She broke down and started sobbing harshly.<br/>
Geralt and Dandelion exchanged a look, and Geralt stopped Dandelion from rising to comfort her with a raised hand.<br/>
“Did you go check to see what happened? Get a better view of the monster at all?” Geralt said without looking away from his companion.<br/>
She revealed a small glass vial from a fold in her robe. The smell of fisstech stung in Geralt’s nose. She stared at the vial, “Of course, I grabbed a branch from the fireplace inside and ran down the road towards him. His horse had been spooked and taken off, but there was a wide streak of blood in the grass where he had been taken.”<br/>
Geralt nodded in affirmation.<br/>
“My hands shook something terrible when I saw that, and I could hear wet noises coming from just beyond the trees, but I knew that I had to see. I had to know what happened or it would torture me for all my life. So I walked in and pushed my way through the bushes and branches.”<br/>
Her free hand started to drift towards the vial, straining to open the stopper. Geralt extended a gloved hand and placed it on the widow’s. She let out a heavy sigh and released the vial into his hand.<br/>
“I’m not entirely sure what I saw. It was so terrible, something the eternal fire should have never allowed to enter this world. But, now I’m not so sure the eternal fire cares much about us after all.” she trailed off again.<br/>
“What did you see?” Dandelion said, his face slack-jawed in fright.<br/>
“It was huge, bigger than any bear. It stood on its hind legs, but it had large arms like a man and it stood on its knuckles.” She wrung her hands together. They scratched one another with their long nails, slowly picking away at the dried skin that remained there. “At first I only saw it from behind. It was hunched over, one of its arms pounding and pulling at something on the ground.<br/>
“But then it turned around to look at me. Its face was small, child sized even, but it looked like a baby’s face only stretched out like you do when you treat leather. It was stretched out over a dragon’s skull that was lined with a ring of fiery horns. It roared when it saw me, and it sounded like a hundred wailing voices, throwing blood onto my face even though I was at least ten feet away.”<br/>
The widow broke down sobbing into her hands. Her frail body was racked by the sobs. Geralt stood up from the stack of hay and motioned for Dandelion to do the same.<br/>
She looked up at Geralt and said, “You can stay in our old home a couple of streets over if you like. I left the door unblocked so just let yourselves in. I doubt anybody in town has touched it yet.”<br/>
Geralt nodded his thanks and extended his hand towards her. The open vial hung delicately held between two fingers.<br/>
She smiled up at him and shakily reached out to grab it. “I know that you’re going to kill this beast, witcher. I can see it in those cold yellow eyes of yours. I don’t have much to pay you with, but I only ask that you make that damned thing suffer as much as my Serj did.”<br/>
Geralt forced a weak smile and nodded again. He turned to Dandelion and motioned that it was time for them to leave.<br/>
Outside of the shack, as they navigated the roads and made their way over to the widow’s abandoned house, Dandelion said, “So what do you think they’re dealing with here, Geralt? Sounded like it may have been a fiend or leshen, no?”<br/>
“It depends, but it isn’t likely. If this monster really is strewing up its victims by their innards it's unlikely that it's a leshen or fiend. They would just kill the bastard, eat what they want, and then move on,” Geralt grumbled.<br/>
“Could that not have been an exaggeration? Just scared, simple folk using colorful language?” Dandelion continued to prod.<br/>
“It is definitely atypical, but not unheard of. If it is true it leaves two options. The most likely is that there is no monster, but instead just a band of scoia'tael that are convincing these villagers they’re a monster to keep any soldiers off their scent. However, the people being targeted don’t lend themselves well to that theory.”<br/>
“So, the second option?” Dandelion was fascinated.<br/>
“The second option is that this is something malicious. It isn’t eating because it’s hungry, it’s eating because it’s pissed off.  It wants revenge or is searching for a purpose. So, if it is a monster at all, it is most likely cursed. Its actions don't seem like it would be its nature, but it is rather somebody wronged that is striking back out. But it’s impossible to know at this point.”<br/>
They arrived at the house. It was connected to a blacksmith’s furnace, and was one of the nicest in the village. Geralt led the way in and the two quickly each chose a bed to claim as their own and began undressing for the night.<br/>
“So, what are we going to do now?” Dandelion asked as he folded up a cloth to make a rough improvised pillow.<br/>
“I need to know what I’m even dealing with.”<br/>
“How do you do that?”<br/>
“I’m going to have to find it,” Geralt grunted as he laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So what’s your plan then?” Dandelion broke the silence of the morning as they both sat hunched over the small wooden table in one corner of the widow’s house.<br/>
Geralt tore a large piece of the roasted duck he had purchased from the town’s pavilion earlier that morning. He talked through a full mouth, “First, I need to see where he was pulled into the forest and killed. That should help me determine if I’m really dealing with a monster or just a band of pissed off elves.”<br/>
Dandelion winced and turned away. “Please Geralt, must you be so boorish? I know tableside manners aren’t a part of your witcher training, but please, you must have picked some up along the way.”<br/>
Geralt scoffed as he gnawed on the dry meat.<br/>
“Is there anything that you’d like me to do?” Dandelion asked timidly.<br/>
Geralt gave an exaggerated swallow before responding. “I want you to do what you do best, Dandelion.”<br/>
Dandelion perked an eyebrow.<br/>
“Just get the people of Forlaetan to like you. Get them on our side so that they don’t chase us out of here, and so that here’s a hefty pouch waiting for us when I get back from killing whatever is out in this forest.”<br/>
Dandelion nodded enthusiastically. “Consider it done, Geralt.”<br/>
Geralt grunted.<br/>
After they finished the duck, Geralt followed the dirt road out of the town towards where Serg had gone missing.<br/>
Where the man had been attacked was difficult to miss. The road was pummeled with the frantic hoofbeats of a panicked horse. The grass to his left was painted with a thick streak of rust-colored dried blood. The brush that lined the front of the forest was split open, a doorway framed out of broken twigs and bent branches.<br/>
The stench of the blood was almost overwhelming. It was thick with remnants of alcohol, the acrid smell of which mixed with the iron of the blood to form a nauseating cocktail.<br/>
Geralt followed the streak of blood into the forest’s threshold. He knelt on the ground for a closer inspection.<br/>
There were trenches pushed down into the grass, seemingly made by the frantic kicking of leather boots. Both sides of the streak were flanked by massive hoofprints. They were too large to be the horse’s, or any horse’s for that matter. They were nearly twice the size of Geralt’s flattened hand.<br/>
The prints were definitely large enough to be fake, but the distance between was too measured to be faked and there was a lack of elven prints at all.<br/>
Geralt had also never seen scoia'tael leave a mess like this.<br/>
He inspected the edges of the opening into the forest. Bits of human skin, small strands of cloth, and specks of blood were distributed haphazardly across the sharp tips of the branches.<br/>
“Damn, no fur or any other sign of what took him,” Geralt mumbled out loud.<br/>
Back on his feet, Geralt followed the streak of blood deeper into the forest. A dozen or so meters in he could see a misshapen form silhouette against the sunlight that penetrated the forest’s canopy and was suspended halfway up the height of the trees.<br/>
He didn’t have to guess what it was.<br/>
The blood streak and prints leading to Serg’s suspended body remained uniform until just a meter before his “resting place”. It was there that Serg had been slaughtered. A wide circle of blood was spread across the forest floor, supersaturating the dirt until there was a shallow standing puddle still remaining.<br/>
Geralt stood in the middle of the puddle, hardly noticing its presence. His eyes were glued on the gaping chest cavity of Serg’s suspended corpse. His abdomen was sliced open lengthwise, the sheet of his skin was flared and stretched out away from his body. It was sliced into petals and fanned out, his split open and carefully positioned rib cage clumped together to form the flower’s bulb.<br/>
HIs body was suspended with his own intestines, which were draping out of his gaping abdomen and wrapped around the surrounding branches and tree trunks as well as his legs, torso, and arms. Serg’s legs were bent at the knees, although they were pushed backwards with his bloodied bare feet tied to his hips with strips of skin that were peeled back from his upper thighs.<br/>
A knot clogged itself in Geralt’s throat. His nostrils were burning with the myriad smells that burned them. The mix of old blood, intestines, fecal matter, mud, and an undertone of damp fur was acidic.<br/>
Geralt became aware of his now soaked boots, and looked down at the puddle of blood in disgust.<br/>
He stepped forward out of the puddle to get a closer look at the corpse, as much as he didn’t want to get any closer. With a rag tied over his nose and mouth to help dampen the stench, Geralt began to inspect the wounds in hopes that he would find any clue as to what could have achieved such utter destruction.<br/>
The edge of the torso’s skin was rough and shredded, indicating that it had been torn apart rather than cut or sliced. Geralt found the same was true for the ribcage. The bones had been torn and snapped apart rather than bludgeoning or broken with a tool.<br/>
The strength needed to do something like that to a full grown man, even one as malnourished and thin as Serg, with just its bare strength would have to be immense.<br/>
Geralt bent over to inspect the strips of skin that were peeled back from Serg’s upper thighs and tied around his ankles like bows. The skin here was cut cleanly and with impressive accuracy. The dexterity not only to slice through the skin with that level of precision and ease, as well as to tie it around the ankles while holding them in place, was atypical of most monsters in Geralt’s knowledge.<br/>
That dexterity combined with the required strength for the rest of the dismemberment made it all the more confusing, as did the needed mental facilities to perform such a malicious act.<br/>
But, at least Geralt could eliminate the possibility that this was anything other than a monster. He just couldn’t imagine what sort of monster could do something like this.<br/>
Back on the road, and safely away from the constant stench of Serg’s remains, Geralt sat and mused on his next steps. Without seeing the monster, and hopefully being able to identify it, there was very little that Geralt could do. To see it he had two options: either wait for it to strike again and hope that he’s around to intervene, or he could try and draw the monster out with some sort of bait. Obviously, waiting for the monster to attack again and hoping that he would be there to intervene was much too risky to be seriously considered.<br/>
Not only would it put more villagers at risk, but there was no way to know how long it would be until the monster struck again and Geralt was unwilling to risk being stuck in Forlaetan waiting for forever.<br/>
However, how could he bait a monster that he knew nothing about? The only thing that he knew the monster ate was villagers, seemingly having a preference for older men. It was nowhere near enough to go off.<br/>
It did not take long for Geralt to realize the best solution. He would have to be the bait. To ensure that the monster would take the bait, he would have to disguise himself as one of the villagers, and with the creature’s assumed intelligence, he thought his best bet would be to try and fool it into thinking that he is it’s most recent victim. If it was half as malicious as the evidence suggested, the insult and confusion would almost guarantee that the monster would make an appearance.<br/>
Back at the small house where Geralt and Dandelion were staying, Geralt began a search for any of Serg’s old possessions.<br/>
His search proved fruitful, and he quickly found an old baggy parka, a leather cap, and a burlap sack, all of which bore Serg’s scent.<br/>
Dandelion entered the shack with his shoulder slumped and his head hanging loosely.<br/>
Geralt, still searching, greeted him without looking and said, “Dandelion, I need you to go fetch something.”<br/>
Dandelion gave no indication that he had heard anything. “Oh, Geralt, I had no idea you would be here, but I sure am glad that you are. I am just exhausted.”<br/>
“Dandelion.”<br/>
“These are really good people living here though, Geralt. But, man is it just draining trying to get an entire village on our side, you know? They have good hearts, but they sure are wary of outsiders.” Dandelion huffed wearily and, with a dramatic flourish, collapsed onto a bed in the corner.<br/>
“Dandelion, I need-”<br/>
“By the way, I like the Parka, Geralt, but doesn’t it seem like poor taste to go looting around a widow’s house like you are? Yes, I saw you, my friend, and I’m not going to judge too harshly, but I hope this isn’t an indication of how you’re going to act every time our coin runs a little sparse.” Dandelion paused for just a few seconds before continuing. “By the way, how’s the monster hunt going?”<br/>
Geralt groaned and Dandelion perched up on one shoulder and looked at his friend’s face. “Well don’t be so secretive Geralt. Talk to me a bit here.”<br/>
“I need you to go and get me alcohol. A cider that they must sell around here. With apple in it,” Geralt mumbled after a heavy sigh.<br/>
Dandelion’s face twisted into a concerned frown. “Geralt, I’m not sure getting drunk is our best approach right now. Not to mention that it’s still hours until dusk.”<br/>
Geralt groaned again. “Dandelion, I’m not getting pissed, I need it to bait whatever the fuck this is out.”<br/>
Dandelion perked up and his face lit up. “You’re hunting it tonight then? How exciting! What is it? A leshen? An alghoul? Oh! Or maybe a drake? What a ballad this will be! The white wolf defended his pack in the forests of Forlaetan!”<br/>
“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, spittle spraying from his mouth. “I’m not getting drunk and I’m not fighting some generic alghoul!”<br/>
Dandelion thought for a moment. “What’s the cider for then?”<br/>
“I’m drawing out the monster so that I can try and learn what it is,” Geralt grumbled.<br/>
“You don’t know what it is yet?” Dandelion perked up with barely contained excitement. “What a fine ballad this will be indeed!”<br/>
“You’ll have to wait until the end for the ballad. I don’t even know just what the hell I’m up against, or if anyone would even know,” Geralt trailed off, talking to nobody in particular.<br/>
Dandelion did his best to keep his excitement bottled. “Alright, I’ll go and get you the cider then.”<br/>
Geralt gave a stern nod of thanks. His eyes trailed Dandelion as he made his way out of the abandoned home.<br/>
Later that night, just as the moon reached its apex, Geralt rode Roach slowly down the road heading into Forlaetan. It was a calm night with a cool breeze and a clear sky that proudly displayed the waning crescent moon.<br/>
Geralt had donned the parka over his leather jerkin and equipment after splashing the cider over it with the head cap tied loosely to Roach’s saddle. He didn’t want the glint of the chainmail in his armor to throw off the monster’s approach, but he would never be comfortable wearing a leather cap either. The smell of the cider was almost too much to bear, it was so strong. Geralt only hoped that he would not have to rely on scent to tell when the monster was approaching.<br/>
He was nearly at the large streak of blood when he heard the rustling of the brush to his right. It was frantic and coming in his direction with remarkable speed. Whatever was heading his way wasn’t bothering to be quiet or sneak up on its prey.<br/>
The bait was working perfectly.<br/>
Geralt pulled back on Roach’s reins to keep him still. He could sense the stress that was tensing the horse’s muscles, but he needed to focus on his timing to ensure that he didn’t end up another victim of the monster before he even had a chance.<br/>
The sound grew in volume and impatience. It thundered from behind the brush and was soon joined by heavy pants and...was that mumbling?<br/>
Before Geralt had time to focus his ears on the sounds, an enormous form, blacked out in the night, leapt from behind the brush with one three long arms extended out towards the witcher. The moonlight glinted off of large sharp fangs.<br/>
But Geralt had been ready. His free hand extended out of the parka, fingers bent in the shape of the aard sign. A strong force extended from his hand and hit the monster like a wall, sending it tumbling back into the brush with an exasperated grunt.<br/>
Roach reared back with a whinny, and began to take off towards the town. Geralt slid off of the saddle with ease, pulling his silver sword out of the sheath attached to the saddle along with him.<br/>
There was an uncomfortable quiet. Geralt stood in the middle of the road with his feet set wide, both hands gripping the hilt of his sword. His jaw was clenched and his muscles were taut and ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.<br/>
Warily, he slid one hand underneath the parka and retrieved a small glass vial. A cat potion. He popped the stopper off with one hand and downed the vile tasting concoction. The vial fell into the dirt road with a light clink.<br/>
“Come on you bastard,” the witcher grumbled under his breath. His hands wrung the hilt of the sword impatiently.<br/>
“You...are not...him,” the voice came from behind the brush. It sounded pained, like the beast’s breath had to fight for every syllable and force them out of its mouth. It was gravely but high pitched. Like a child imitating an old man and not doing a good job.<br/>
The cat potion coursed through Geralt’s metabolism, allowing him to see his surroundings as if it were the middle of the day, although with much more muted colors.<br/>
“Who…” the monster groaned again. At Geralt’s lack of response it jumped up in the brush, standing on its knuckles and holding its chest and head over the cover of the brush. It yelled this time, “WHO?”<br/>
The movement allowed Geralt to make out more of its appearance. Its three shoulders were large and rounded, the rippling muscles visible beneath its taut hairless skin. Its neck was hardly visible beneath the three shoulders and its large head. Its face was a twisted rendition of a child’s face melted and combined with that of a drowner or nekker.<br/>
The human features were nearly lost in the collage of the two skin tones, one a soft rose color and the other a harsh dry red. Of the jumbled features Geralt could make out a child’s eye, nose, and lips, while the rest of the face was composed of a monstrous ear, teeth, and whiskers.<br/>
The monster took a few labored steps out towards the road, revealing its entire form from behind the brush. “You...who?”<br/>
Watching the monstrosity’s mouth move was almost enough to make Geralt nauseous. The uncanny combination of a child’s lips and the all too familiar saliva soaked jagged teeth of danger made his skin crawl.<br/>
His eyes scanned the rest of his quarry’s body. It had three arms that looked like larger versions of human arms, although they each had an extra joint in the middle of the length of their forearm. They were firmly planted in the ground to support its weight, its knuckled digging small divots in the soft earth.<br/>
Its torso was built like a barrel from what parts Geralt could see, which was not much as so much of it was covered by the wall of its arms. Its legs protruded out to either side like a crab, although there were only two of them and they were much shorter than its arms.<br/>
The arms were a clear explanation for the immense strength that would have been required for what the creature had done to Serg, but Geralt still searched for the apparent tool used for the more intricate cutting. Could this thing have a weapon stowed somewhere on it? A dagger or short sword?<br/>
“You...are not man...but you...smell...like man,” the monster seemed to have a pained struggle with the length of the sentence, “but...man...dead.”<br/>
“I am Geralt of Rivia. A witcher,” Gearlt said flatly, his body still posed in a perfect imitation of a diagram from one of the witcher tomes Vesemir had had him study so many years ago.<br/>
The monster’s head twitched in a harsh quarter turn with an odd clicking sound before it spoke again. “A...witcher? Witchers...kill...monsters.”<br/>
“That’s right,” Geralt said. “Although you’re lucky. I only kill monsters that can’t be reasoned with.”<br/>
“Reasoned?” the monster asked, the inflection of its voice sounding uncomfortably close to that of a child who didn’t understand their parents’ conversation.<br/>
“I don’t kill monsters unless I have to,” Geralt clarified. His eyes snapped as he saw a brief flicker of movement over the monster’s right shoulder. A tail? That could very well be the blade.<br/>
“Are...the stories...of...witchers...true?”<br/>
“Not all of them.” Geralt could see the monster’s muscles relax slightly. He had to make sure that his stayed alert. Letting his guard down could spell his end.<br/>
“Witchers...can’t be...dads…” the monster said almost as though it were a question.<br/>
Geralt nodded.<br/>
The monster looked down on the ground, seemingly playing a debate through in its mind. It looked back up at Geralt and nodded. “Goodbye…”<br/>
The monster turned and lumbered back into the forest, allowing Geralt to examine its tail. It confirmed his fears. The tail was long and coiled, and looked as though it could extend to twice the monster’s length. At the end sat a bony barb that looked as though it was naturally sharpened on both sides.<br/>
It was almost exactly like a fine crafted dagger, although much, much more dangerous.<br/>
Geralt let out a weary sigh once the monster was out of view. He lowered his sword and looked up at the sliver of moon in the sky. It had been a long time since he had faced something he was not familiar with, much less something that he had never heard of.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night Geralt returned to the widow’s cabin. His face was stoic and his mind was racing. Just what was it that he had faced off with that night?<br/>“Geralt!” Dandelion cheered as he hopped up from one of the straw beds in the corner of the main room of the house. “Glad to see you in one piece! And not even a scratch on you! Ended up being an easy one, huh?” <br/>Geralt moved past Dandelion without a response and leaned against the wall, lost in thought. <br/>But Dandelion wouldn’t be deterred. “Well don’t keep it all to yourself now, Geralt! I’ve got a ballad to write and I’ve been struck by a bolt of inspiration!” <br/>Geralt clenched a fist until his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched and his mind was dragged back to the present. “Dandelion.”<br/>The troubadour perked up at the sound of his name. “Yes, Geralt?” <br/>“I’m going to need your help,” Geralt grumbled as he turned away from the wall and took a seat on the small bed opposite the one his friend had been sitting on. <br/>Dandelion’s face gained a slight glow at the prospect. “Yes?”<br/>“I haven’t taken care of the monster yet. I faced it, but we only talked.” <br/>“It talks?” Dandelion cut him off. <br/>Geralt sighed, “Yes, it talks.”<br/>“Well, what is it?” <br/>I-I don’t know.” Geralt said glumly. <br/>Dandelion’s face sank.<br/>“Which is what I need your help with.”<br/>“I’d love to help you Geralt, but I don’t know anything about monsters.”<br/>“Of course not,” Geralt snapped a little more harshly than he meant to. “If I’m going to figure out what it is, I’m going to need you to ask around town. I got the impression that it has been cursed. I need you to ask around and find out if anything has happened in this village or one nearby that could have cursed somebody or something.”<br/>Dandelion nodded with conviction. “What sort of things do I look for?” <br/>“Look for events of high emotion. Betrayals, murders, the deceased not being properly put to rest. Anything that the villagers seem hesitant to talk about could point us in the right direction.”<br/>“What are you going to be doing?”<br/>“I’m going to ride over to Vizima, I should be back by tomorrow night if I leave immediately.”<br/>“Vizima?”<br/>“I’ve heard that Kiera Metz is there under employ of a royal advisor,” Geralt mumbled, mostly to himself, as he packed his saddlebags. <br/>“Do you think that she will know something about this monster?” Dandelion was thoroughly confused. <br/>“No, but I’m going to pay her to get me in contact with Vesemir.”<br/>Dandelion nodded in understanding. “Well, I’ll get right on asking around in the morning, don’t worry about that Geralt.”<br/>Geralt gave his friend a sincere nod before he tied closed his saddlebags and headed out of the widow’s house.<br/>And Dandelion kept his word that following morning. He rose with the sun, and made his way out to the waking streets of Forlaetan. There was a light sprinkle that was stalwart throughout the day despite its lack of severity. <br/>He started by taking a stroll through the streets, while leisurely making his way towards the marketplace at the center of the town. He shared greetings with the various faces he passed that were now familiar, and often stopped for brief conversations with each as well, absent-mindedly strumming his lute as he went. <br/>Upon eventually making his way to the marketplace, Dandelion scouted out the oldest man in the village that he knew by name. He was standing next to a rackety stall with well prepared pelts of various animals nailed to it. <br/>“Pod,” Dandelion said after playing a short procession of notes on his lute from just a couple feet behind him.<br/>The old man turned, his face covered with deep trenches of wrinkles and topped with just a few spare strands of wispy white hair dangling down from his hairline. His face stretched with a wide smile that revealed two rows of orange teeth punctuated by a handful of gaps. <br/>“Dandelion!” his voice was undeniably joyed. “How great it is to see that you’re still here!”<br/>“I’m blessed to still be here,” Dandelion responded honestly. “I was hoping that you may assist my companion and I, however.”<br/>Pod’s face turned quizzical. “Help with what? Do you require some of my modest pelts?”<br/>“No, dear friend, we are after information.”<br/>“It has to do with the monster?” Dandelion gave a solemn nod, and it was clear that the idea was beginning to make the old man uncomfortable. <br/>“What sort of information?” the old man said after quietly considering for a short while. <br/>“I just need to know some more about Forlaetan. More specifically, what sort of things happened in the village around the appearance of the monster.” <br/>Pod thought about Dandelion’s request for a while. “Well, I’ll tell you whatever I can, my friend.” <br/>“Thank you,” Dandelion nodded with satisfaction. “If you can think of anything that happened of note in the village around then. Anything sad, or with a lot of emotion. Something that would sound at home in the start of one of my sadder songs, you know?”<br/> “Well, let’s see…” Pod trailed off briefly. “The monster first got old Sedrick...and that was back around five months ago I suppose. Let’s see...there was poor old Mary whose fiance left her for her own daughter. Or there was the Stenwells who lost their baby boy. Oh, and there was Ricky over at the mill who died after he fell from a balcony.”<br/>“Well, if Ricky died I doubt he could be a monster now, so that leaves me with just the other two I suppose,” Dandelion said excitedly. “Where can I find old Mary?”<br/>“Old Mary doesn’t leave her house much anymore, I don’t think. She has a small cottage at the end of the road over on the north side of the village.”<br/>“And the Stenwells?”  <br/>“They’ve got a small farm outside of town to the west.” <br/>Dandelion gave Pod his thanks and headed north after purchasing a few large pieces of jerky to make sure he did not go hungry during his investigation.<br/>Old Mary’s house was hardly a house at all. A more accurate moniker would have been a dilapidated lean-to. Dandelion let out a small gasp once he realized that the clump of sad sticks loosely tied to a tree trunk just outside the border of the village was in actuality Old Mary’s “house”.<br/>He approached the lean-to from one side, meekly clutching the small pouch of beef jerky as if it would offer any protection. <br/>“Um...excuse me?” Dandelion forced out with a shaky voice. <br/>“Yes?” an even shakier voice called from behind the sticks. It was frail and gravelly as if she hadn’t drank water in a fortnight. <br/>“I’m-” Dandelion’s voice cut off as he saw the frail old woman huddled in the corner of the small room. Her form was shrouded by rolling thin black cloth that made her pale, sickly skin look even more so. Her skin was taut and tinged with a yellow tint, and her face was bony like a skeleton’s except for the veiny, dried out eyes that protruded from their sunken sockets. <br/>“I’m Dandelion, a travelling troubadour. I came here with my friend, Geralt of Rivia, who is a witcher,” Dandelion started his introduction that had been well rehearsed through getting to know the townspeople.<br/>“I know who you are,” Old Mary cut him off. “But what does a troubadour and a monster slayer want with a frail old woman like me? Unless I’ve been haunting this town so long that the villagers have deemed me a wraith, or perhaps an old witch.”<br/>The entire lean-to shook with her rickety laughter. It was the sound of a handful of chicken bones being shook and tossed around in an enclosed pair of hands accompanied by wheezing puffs of air. Dandelion offered a weak smile in return. <br/>Old Mary’s facial expression snapped back to one of stoic business. “But why are you actually here?” <br/>“Oh!” Dandelion was taken aback by the swift change. “Well, my good friend Geralt has accepted the contract to deal with the local monster that has been terrorizing this peaceful village of Forlaetan. And he has entrusted me, his dearest companion, with gathering information from the fine folk here, to try and discover what could have led to the horrifying beast’s creation.”<br/>“A little full of yourselves aren’t ya?” Old Mary barked out, quickly followed by another explosive but short lived burst of laughter. “But what’s that got to do with me? I didn’t make no monster?” <br/>“It is, after all, just another day for us ma’am,” Dandelion retorted, indignant. “And I am suggesting no such thing. A good friend of mine in town simply reported to me that you have experienced a tragedy within a reasonable window of time around the genesis of this creature, and I should simply like to make sure that did not bring about the beast.” He forced another smile, again ineffectively.<br/>“I don’t mean to be harsh mister troubadour, but I hardly doubt that my fiance fucking my daughter with his festering cock would give birth to a mighty monster. Especially not from her ratty womb.” She let out a howling laugh. <br/>Dandelion was beginning to sweat. “Well...nothing strange happened at all around then? You didn’t see or notice anything unusual?” <br/>“The only strange thing that I found was my daughter on her back beneath my soon to be husband.” She was stone faced. <br/>Dandelion nodded affirmatively and made a move to exit the lean-to. Before getting all the way out, he stuck his head back in. “Just out of curiosity, why do you live out here?” <br/>Old Mary’s face warped into a twisted sneer. The grinding noise of her mouth sucking mucus up from her throat took Dandelion aback before she turned to the side and spat it all out in a large clump on the dirt next to her. <br/>“This town may seem nice, but they care very little for upheaval. If you don’t play along well enough, or if you, say, make a situation that could cause people to pick sides, they don’t care for it. So rather than decide whether to be angry with an adulterous but talented carpenter and his young cock sheathe or the scorned ancient woman, they simply choose to disregard whichever one will die sooner.” Old Mary said, hardly a muscle in her face moving as she spoke.<br/>Dandelion nodded, started to speak before stopping himself, and decided to simply back out of the lean-to, dropping a piece of jerky in his mouth as he turned. <br/>He walked back into the town before heading towards the Stenwell family, his mind toying with the new information fleetingly. It did not take long for the delicious jerky to overwhelm his thoughts. <br/>The Stenwell household was the exact opposite of Old Mary’s. A proud, well kept looking house with a moderate amount of tasteful decoration on its facade. It all made Dandelion feel comfortable just looking at it. <br/>He walked up to the front door and delivered a sharp triplet of knocks on the neat wooden door. A cheery woman’s voice called out from within the house and was quickly followed by the soft pattering of feet inside. <br/>The door swung open, and Dandelion was greeted by a naturally pretty woman. “Yes?” She asked sweetly with a turn of her head. <br/>“Hello, ma’am,” Dandelion began. “I’m a travelling troubadour here in town with my dear friend Geralt of Rivia, the famous witcher.”<br/>“Oh yeah, I think I might have heard of you folks,” her voice was starting to trail off with thought. <br/>“Excellent!” Dandelion said with a genuinely large smile. “Well, perhaps you have heard then that my dear friend Geralt has accepted a contract to eliminate the monster that has been terrorizing the village this past so many months.” <br/>She perked up at the news. “Ah, yes!” <br/>“Would you mind answering some questions for me then, ma’am? Geralt has tasked me with trying to find some information around town.”<br/>“Well, I’m not sure what information I’ll have but of course,” she said. Her confusion was evident on her countenance. <br/>“It is very much appreciated,” Dandelion said pleasantly. “So, my dear friend Pod in town said that you folks here may have suffered a great tragedy just a month or so before the appearance of the monster. Can you tell me anything about that? I know how tough of a time that must have been for you, but any information could help.”<br/>She gave Dandelion a look of confusion and an awkward silence settled in between them. <br/>“He said...something about your son?” <br/>A look of recognition washed over her face. “Ah, yes! That little...occurrence.” <br/>“Again, I know it may be difficult to go back to, but I would appreciate any information that you may have to give.”<br/>“Oh, it’s no bother, Sir Dandelion. Let me just see what I can remember,” she said casually. “Um, back then we did have to say goodbye to our son though. It was a tragedy that it happened so young, but...sometimes, what can you do?” <br/>Dandelion nodded solemnly. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Do you mind telling me what happened?” <br/>“Well, there was a small issue in the village of thievery, like some kids do when they’re growing up. But with Ab, no matter how many times we scolded or punished him he just wouldn’t stop,” she stopped and another silence fell between them. <br/>“And?” Dandelion prodded her to continue. <br/>“Oh, well we had to exile him. It was for the better of Forlaetan, yeah?”<br/>Dandelion was shocked but subdued any visible indication. “He was how old?”<br/>“Seven?”<br/>It was late that night that Geralt entered the widow’s house and startled Dandelion, who had been overly focused on the early compositions of his ballad about Forlaetan. <br/>“Eternal Fire Geralt!” Dandelion shouted as he almost squirmed out of his small wooden chair in shock.<br/>Geralt looked miserably sour. He turned away from Dandelion and set to unpacking his saddlebags in the small corner of the hut that he had claimed. <br/>“What did you find?” Geralt grunted. <br/>“Well, I had three leads, starting with-” Dandelion began his report proudly.<br/>“I’m not in the mood for theatrics, Jaskier. Just tell me the parts that matter,” Geralt cut him off sharply. <br/>Dandelion deflated and continued in a mumble, “The only one that seemed plausible was a small family that abandoned their son in the forest just outside of town after he was exiled for being a thief. Poor kid was only seven years old as well.”<br/>“Damn,” Geralt let out a heavy sigh. <br/>“Hm?” Dandelion asked. <br/>“That means that Vesemir was right. It’s a Fennec,” Geralt bemoaned to the corner as if he were alone. “Fuck.”<br/>“What in bloody hell is a Fennec?” Dandelion blurted out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dandelion’s countenance was warped in confusion. “I’m sorry Geralt, but I’m having a hard time following you. What did Vesemir tell you again?” <br/>“He told me about Fennecs,” Geralt began, his voice sharpened with the undertone of irritation at having to repeat himself, “a race of cursed monsters that are born out of children abandoned by their parents.”<br/>“But what turns them into a monster? Surely not every child left alone for too long turns into a monstrosity,” Dandelion questioned thoughtfully. <br/>“No, but children often feel heightened emotions due to their youth. So, if a child is abandoned and all of their fear, sorrow, and sadness, if extreme enough, can pull from the magic in the area and warp the child’s feeble body into something else.”<br/>Dandelion clicked his tongue. “It’s just horrible. Transforming a poor innocent child like that.” <br/>Geralt gave him a stern look. <br/>“Sorry...You know that I didn’t mean that,” Dandelion cringed. “So did Vesemir have any advice for how to get rid of it?” <br/>Geralt let out a heavy sigh. “No, he didn’t. Fennecs are luckily extremely rare. So rare that every witcher school I know of characterizes them as nothing more than a myth, folklore. It’s been so long since one has been seen that I doubt anyone living could tell me anything about it.” <br/>Dandelion’s face glowed briefly. “Oh, what a wonderful ballad this will surely be.” His face sank as Geralt gave him a sinister glare. <br/>“I’m going to see the Pellar halfway between here and Thambedd. I think we passed his hut on the way into town.” <br/>Dandelion nodded his approval, embarrassed at his focus on his own work. “Is there anything that I can do?” <br/>Geralt shook his head. “I will be back before nightfall.” <br/>“What a damn fine ballad,” Dandelion muttered, reaching for his bag of writing tools, as Geralt stomped out of the widow’s old house. <br/>“I’m-I’m sorry, it’s a what?” the old pellar mumbled as he propped himself up on one elbow atop his lumpy hay mattress. <br/>“A Fennec I believe,” Geralt said again, his wide shoulders filling the doorway into the old man’s rundown hut. It reeked of garlic and onion, and a constant draft worked its way through the wide gaps in the thin strips of wood that were used to build the shack’s walls. <br/>“You’ll have to forgive me, sir witcher, but I’m afraid that I know nothing about Fennecs,” the pellar stumbled through his words. HIs voice was rough like strips of leather being torn. <br/>“I don’t blame you. From what I can tell, there hasn’t been a reported Fennec in more than five hundred years,” Geralt said glumly. <br/>“And what would you like me to do for you, sir witcher?” the pellar grunted. HIs socked feet shuffled over the loose dirt floor of the shack to a hearth with a fire lit inside it. “Would you like a cup of tea? It’s gooseberries.” <br/>Geralt shook his head. “Thank you, but I’m just here to see if you have any herbs to sell.”<br/>“What are you in search of?” <br/>“I need a talisman, a pestle of dog tallow, and a handful of wolf’s bane.” <br/>“A talisman?”<br/>“Yes, a transformative one would work best. Something carved on bone,” Geralt stepped into the hut. “A bone of a local forest beast.” <br/>The pellar nodded painfully. Geralt could hear the rough clicking of tendons in the ancient man’s neck as his head bobbed up and down. “I’m sure that I could do that for you, sir witcher. What is it that you intend to do with these ingredients, if you aren’t bothered by my curiosity.”<br/>Geralt leaned against a small bare spot on one of the walls, slowly putting his weight against it to make sure that it would not give from underneath him. “I am aiming to not kill the monster, but to lift its curse. To turn it back into the little boy it once was.”<br/>The pellar was visibly perplexed. “That may work?” <br/>Geralt shrugged. “I am hoping so. The Fennec is cursed in a way similar to that of a Blubberkin, so my thinking is that perhaps the Fennec can be rid of in a similar fashion.” <br/>The pellar clicked his tongue against the back of his front teeth and inspected Geralt carefully. “I thought witchers just killed monsters.” He reached into a leather bag and started pushing the items inside around. <br/>“Most do.” <br/>The pellar nodded at Geralt grimly before returning his attention to the interior of the bag. He emerged quickly, a small knot of bone clutched in his boney hand. “Ah, here we go. It will take me an hour to prepare it for you; do you mind waiting?” <br/>Geralt shook his head, “How much are you thinking for all of this?” <br/>The pellar sat down with a grunt on a small wooden chair that shook and creaked under his weight. “What will you do if you can’t lift the curse off of this child?” <br/>Geralt grunted like an animal. “I won’t have a choice then.” <br/>“I’ll give you the talisman for free, but the dog tallow and wolf’s bane will be two crowns.” <br/>“Only two?” Geralt was surprised at the unsolicited deal. <br/>The pellar gave Geralt a stern nod as they made eye contact. <br/>Geralt placed two crowns on a small wooden table in the corner of the hut and sat on the floor to wait for his talisman. <br/>Later that night at the widow’s old house Geralt knelt lightly on the rough floor boards in one corner. Dandelion sat on the bed in the opposite corner, pretending to be finicking with his lute and not watching his kneeling friend. <br/>Geralt placed the leather satchel on the floor in front of him. From inside it he retrieved the dog’s tallow, wolfsbane, a bottle of alcohol, and a mortar and pestle. He ground the wolfsbane and dog’s tallow together inside the small stone bowl, grinding them into a small doughy mixture. <br/>He retrieved a small glass vial from a leather pouch on his hip and pulled out the cork stopper stuck in its mouth with his teeth. <br/>He forced a large pinch of the doughy mixture into the glass bottle and quickly followed it with alcohol that mixed it up to the top of the vial. He plugged the vial back up with the cork stopper and shook it violently, inspecting it every couple of seconds until the doughy mixture was entirely absorbed in the alcohol. <br/>He pulled open the cork and took a smell of the acrid mixture. It was a thick viscous mixture with a red-brown tint with the smell of rotting flesh. <br/>It wasn’t quite right; Geralt pulled out another glass vial and started again, with less of the doughy mixture this time. <br/>It was two hours later that Geralt slowly rose from the floor and made his way towards the door of the shack. <br/>“Jaskier, did the child’s mother happen to mention his name?” Geralt asked without turning back towards the interior. <br/>“Ah...yes I think so,” Dandelion hesitated for dramatic effect. “Ab, I believe it was.”<br/>Geralt nodded over his shoulder. “If I’m not back by morning, get a letter to Vesemir. He’ll know what to do to get rid of the Fennec, and...and he’ll know what else I need him to do.” <br/>Geralt could have sworn he smelled the faint scent of lilac and gooseberries wafting through the air. But it was just hopeful thinking. <br/>“Sure thing, Geralt,” Dandelion said with an uncharacteristically sober tone. <br/>Geralt waited a fleeting moment before heading out of the widow’s house. <br/>“I’ll see you in the morning, Geralt,” Dandelion called out as the wooden door closed. <br/>The sun was just beginning to settle beneath the horizon as Geralt knelt in the forest outside Forlaetan just a few meters away from the grass stained with the blood of the Fennec’s last victim. <br/>He had just finished his final preparations for the confrontation, and now he had only to wait. He closed his eyes and settled into the grass. A soft wind tickled the skin his armor left exposed. The wind carried with it the soft scent of the trees’ pollen. There was a small critter, maybe a squirrel or rabbit that scampered away from an unseen predator. <br/>But then there was a larger sound. Something lumbering and heavy. Something taking its time with strong limbs and a shambling gait. <br/>The Fennec. <br/>Geralt rose to his feet, as silent as a specter. He could hear the monster’s heaving breaths as it lumbered towards him through the brush. <br/>“You...come here...again?” The terrible voice caused Geralt’s jaw to clench. His muscles were taut, ready to spring at the slightest provocation. <br/>“I’m here to help you,” Geralt said as he pulled the talisman from the leather pouch on his hip. “I want to lift your curse. I want to help you be a human child again.” <br/>“I...am...me now.” <br/>“You don’t have to be.” <br/>“Ha...how?” the Fennec asked as it revealed itself from a wall of bushes and brambles. Its massive scale set a lump in Geralt’s throat. <br/>“There’s an elven ritual, Aymm Rhoin. I’m going to try and perform it on you to reverse the curse that has been set on you,” Geralt said dryly. <br/>The Fennec looked at Geralt for a second, measuring him. “You...cannot. No...trust...you man.”<br/>Geralt gritted his teeth. “Please…” <br/>The Fennec backed up with one large, hesitant step. It shook its head with a procession of growls and mumbles, as if it were fighting with itself. Its head snapped back as it roared, “No!” <br/>Geralt set his feet and pushed his weight onto his back foot. He had to keep himself from drawing his silver sword from the scabbard at his feet. <br/>The Fennec ran towards Geralt, its muscles rippling under its dry skin, a rumbling roar emanating out through the forest. It was only three meters away from Geralt as it stood with one of its massive arms raised, ready to strike. <br/>Geralt drew the skinning knife from its scabbard on the left side of his belt. <br/>The Fennec was only two meters away when the cover over the pitfall trap gave way under its weight. It fell down into the hole in the dirt with a loud crash. Geralt cut the rope that was attached to the tree next to him, releasing the net of dirt and leaves over the pit, burying the Fennec. <br/>Geralt ran and jumped to his stomach atop the buried pit. The ground rumbled with the muted yells and roars of the Fennec. He pressed the talisman to the dirt and began reciting the words of the Aymm Rhoin. <br/>The dirt shuddered beneath him. The roars grew in volume and pitch, accompanied by the sounds of the Fennec’s claws digging up through the dirt and leaves. Geralt accelerated how quickly he recited the ritual. <br/>“Ab!” Geralt shouted the ritual’s conclusion as the piercer of the Fennec’s tail sliced up from the dirt and cut into Geralt’s leg. A searing pain burned in his thigh. He started to roll off the pile over the pit, but was unable to clear it before the Fennec burst upwards, sending him flailing backwards towards the trees. <br/>“You...bury me!” the Fennec howled as it shambled out of the pit. <br/>Geralt gritted his teeth and checked the cut on his leg. It was slowly oozing blood, but he smelled no poisons or toxins from the cut. <br/>As he rose to his feet he was punched in the sternum by the monster and fell backwards into the trunk of a tree. The wind was knocked out of him. <br/>“You are...them! Just...them!” The Fennec charged back in. Geralt sucked desperately for air. <br/>He rolled to the side just before the Fennec reached him. It collided with the trunk of the tree, splintering it into dozens of pieces and shards of bark that exploded into the air. <br/>Geralt groped the ground for his silver sword as he rolled away. His hand found purchase and he twisted to his feet. His other hand retrieved the prepared oil and popped the stopper out of it while the other worked the sword from its sheath. <br/>He went down on one knee, the other supporting the sword. The Fennec rose from where it had fallen after its collision with the tree. The vial of oil poured out of the vial onto his sword where he used a cloth to spread it until it covered the entire blade. <br/>Geralt swore under his breath. How he wished that it would not come to this. <br/>The Fennec charged Geralt again, its tail twirling behind it in a threatening dance. Geralt got back on his feet and raised his sword, oscillating it left and right pointed forward at shoulder height. <br/>The Fennec charged in and clawed at Geralt with a wide sweep. He pirouetted beneath it and batted the tail’s stinger away with the flat of his sword. Geralt twisted the sword quickly with his wrist and sliced the tail at the base of the stinger. <br/>The monster roared. Blood splattered against the branches of the surrounding brush. The stinger fell softly onto the forest floor. <br/>Geralt did a small leap away from the Fennec and twisted to face it. It turned back towards the witcher and snarled from its hideous mouth. It pounded the ground with all three of its fists, its legs shifting impatiently beneath it. <br/>Its castrated tail hung limp in its uselessness. <br/>Geralt’s silver sword rose back up to shoulder level. Damn his leg hurt. <br/>The Fennec closed the gap between them with short, frantic hops. It swung wildly at Geralt with its three fists in wide arcs. The remnants of the child’s face began to sob terrible cries. Tears ran down its red cheeks as the sounds of a child, a human child, crying filled the gaps of the forest. <br/>Geralt ducked and weaved between the wild flailings of the monster’s arms. His silver sword darted in and whirled around as a blur, chipping away at the Fennec. Each cut was accompanied by a splash of blood and a spine-tingling roar. <br/>The blood spread around their feet began to reek of iron and sulfur. <br/>Geralt’s foot slipped on a squashed plant, sending him tumbling into one of the Fennec’s arms, which picked him up and threw him to a nearby tree. He grunted upon impact. White flashed specks flashed across his vision. He could feel one of his ribs splinter and crack. <br/>He spat blood out. “I don’t want to do this.” <br/>“You...die! You...same!” the Fennec yelled in its blinded bloodlust. <br/>Geralt gritted his teeth and slowly got back to his feet. He leaned against the tree for support. The Fennec stalked towards him, slapping its torso and legs as it approached. It grunted rhythmically in time with its stomps. <br/>The witcher pushed himself off of the tree and sneered at the approaching monster. He lifted the silver sword weakly. The pain of his splintered rib shot through his torso. His leg felt as though it was on fire, and his medallion vibrated angrily against his neck. <br/>The Fennec lunged for Geralt with two of its large fists. It found purchase on one of his legs and pulled it roughly to the side. The other arm grabbed the blade of Geralt’s sword. The blade bit into its skin, the oil sizzled and his as it met his flesh. The Fennec roared in anger as it dragged Geralt across the forest floor. <br/>His face was battered with the underbrush of the forest. His face torn by thorns and brambles. His hair knotted with twigs and uprooted plants. His mouth filled with mud and water. <br/>His silver sword swung up towards the Fennec’s taut arm. The sword sliced through its wrist, splitting open an artery and dowsing Geralt with its blood as the hand loosed and dropped him to the ground. <br/>The Fennec grabbed its wrist where blood spurted out through its fingers. The child’s sobs continued and intensified. Geralt stood and swatted away at the fauna trapped in his hair and mouth. <br/>The Fennec turned to face him, and Geralt realigned his hands on the hilt of his silver sword. This time the witcher ran at the Fennec, sword at his side, his hand already forming the igni sign. <br/>The monster stumbled back slightly, surprised by the witcher’s aggression. <br/>He cast the igni sign, sending a torrent of sparks into the monster’s vision. The modest flame burned the monster’s eyes, harshly morphing its desperate sobs into roars of agony. <br/>Geralt seized the opening and advanced further at the Fennec. He stepped in and cut at its torso. Long red slices appeared over its tightened skin. Small rivers of blood trailed down his body as Geralt continued the dance of his blade. <br/>The monster stumbled back and howled as Geralt advanced, cutting away at its torso relentlessly. His instincts took over. His mind went blank. He saw only openings and weaknesses. It was no longer a cursed child - it was a monster. <br/>He had become what they all thought he was. <br/>But he could not stop. His sword moved with a lethal consciousness of its own. It sung and stabbed and lacerated. Blood spilled on the ground, and hunks of flesh soared through the air. One arm fell off the Fennec’s body. It was quickly followed by another and then a leg.<br/>The Fennec fell on its one remaining knee. The contorted face was level with Geralt’s. <br/>“You...are bad...like...them…” the Fennec groaned. <br/>Its head rolled through the air after Geralt’s sword swung in a tight arc with his twisting body. Geralt was turned away from the monster’s corpse when he heard it slump loudly to the ground. His shoulders fell with heavy breaths. He stood in silence for a handful of elongated minutes. <br/>Geralt walked over to the empty sheath discarded on top of a nearby bush. He grabbed it and slid the cleaned silver sword into it smoothly. Damn his leg was throbbing. <br/>Back in Forlaetan the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Geralt and Roach entered the edge of town. He went straight for the widow’s old home.<br/>Dandelion startled on the floor where he had fallen asleep waiting in the middle of the night. “Geralt! Oh, Eternal Fire, it’s really you!” <br/>Geralt nodded and dropped a heavy burlap sack on the ground next to his feet. <br/>“I’m so happy you’re alright, dear dear Geralt!” <br/>Geralt gave his friend a sincere smile. “Hardly. But yet I am.”<br/>“So it’s done then? Is that it,” Dandelion paused as he stiffly stood up, “in the bag there?” <br/>Geralt nodded. “I don’t think you want to see it though.” He moved across the room and dropped wearily onto the open bed, one hand pushing on his screaming rib. <br/>“Yes, well I’m glad you’re alright.” <br/>“Me too,” Geralt grunted. “I’ll tell you about it sometime, but first, I have a favor to ask of you.” <br/>Dandelion perked up, trying to hide his interest in the story. “Yes?” <br/>“You mentioned a man in town who you thought would pay for the contract?” <br/>“Yes, my friend in town Pod offered up a bag of Temerian crowns for its head.” <br/>Geralt nodded without looking at Dandelion. “Take it to him and collect. Then use the money to get some supplies. I’m going to sleep and we’ll depart at noon.” <br/>Dandelion nodded excitedly and walked quickly to the door. He bent over and pinched the sack tentatively. He turned to Geralt and gave him a meek wave despite Geralt’s lack of eye contact. <br/>As the door to the widow’s home swung open Geralt spoke up, “Jaskier.” <br/>Dandelion turned to look at him. <br/>“Thank you.”<br/>It was all Geralt could muster but it was enough. <br/>Dandelion beamed a smile back at him and continued out of the widow’s home. <br/>Geralt laid down on the bed, his gut wracked with guilt. The sound of the child’s cries called out to him in his ears. The sound of a child cursed beyond his control, damned to the life of a monster. Beyond help and beyond repair, left to do nothing but kill and suffer. <br/>Geralt’s eyes drifted closed and the cries quieted with his racing thoughts. <br/>When he woke it would be another day on the path.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading everybody. If you want to read more of my work, I'll be starting up my next fanfiction based off of the Lovecraft Mythos on August 21st, 2020.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>